First of all, I absolutely abhor writing anything biographical. In any form. I’m terrible at it, and I have the very firm belief that no one wants to know who I am. You’re here for books, right? But that doesn’t mean I’m off the hook.
I grew up sneaking over to my great grandmother’s to read her Harlequin novels. Those were delivered once a month in a ginormous box, and from the age of ten, she let me devour them in their entirety. I fell in love with romance, even the clean kind. And that, undoubtedly, led to many days and nights with my face buried in a book and the discovery that I wasn’t happy unless my hair was up, and I had a story in my hand.
I never wanted to write. I wanted to read. ALL the words. Until someone pointed out to me that I’d been writing my entire life. I just needed to put the book in my hand down and pick up a pen.
Once I started, I found out that I couldn’t stop. Now, I’m always writing. Or reading. Or chasing my son through the house to get the elusive hug he thinks I don’t need.
Oh, and I’m a
Leo… which is completely on-point if you know me at all. I love being the center of attention. On my terms. When I can stay at home in my pajamas. With lots and lots of coffee on hand. And maybe a few snacks.
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